The Black Magician Parody
by Morimur
Summary: I swear I WILL update this at some point. Promise, promise, promise. It may not happen soon, but it will be done.
1. Out, You Tramps!

**Disclaimer: The Black Magician Trilogy and all characters involved belong to Trudi Canavan. I'm just borrowing and severely warping them for the sake of my own amusement.**

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It is said, in Imardin, that the wind has a soul, and that it wails through the narrow city streets because it is grieved by what it finds there. Today, the day of the Purge, it was singing.

"_Celebrate good times, come on!"_ it went as it rushed through the Western Gate.

Sonea looked down and scowled at the dirty sludge that splashed over her shoes with every step she took. Then she glanced around to check no one was looking, pulled the shoes off, and began to lick the soles. The sludge really was nutritious this year; plenty of maggots. Mmm, protein! She stooped to rummage in the muck some more, wondering what other delights would be found.

At that moment a guard appeared in the alley entrance. When he saw her his jaw dropped and he choked in disbelief and disgust. Narrowing her eyes, she made a rude gesture then returned her attention to the squalid waste. Unfortunately a second guard chose this moment to arrive. He, like the other guard, was dressed in a pink leotard and feather boa. On their feet were glittery, purple wellington boots, and perched atop their heads were matching berets. Their weapon was a feather duster, as decreed by the king.

"Bobo!" he snapped, clicking his fingers at the first guard. "Oi, ye lumpish, onion-eyed lout! Get thine backside hither; youths art attacking our fellow guards, led by one who hath a putrid green Mohawk. We must make haste."

"Trixy, why are you talking like that?"

"Oh… is this not how we speak?"

"No, silly. Didn't you get a copy of the new script?" Debating the issue, the pair left to stop the youths.

_Green Mohawk? _thought Sonea. That sounded familiar. _Could it be…?_

She turned around to investigate, then jumped as she saw two dark eyes staring back at her through a shop window. She took a step back, and so did the stranger.

"Who are you?" she stammered, watching in fright as the person said the same thing. "What do you want?" Again, they copied her. She frowned, noticing they had a thin, hollow-cheeked face and short, dark hair. _Just like me, _she realised. That could mean only one thing… "You've stolen my face!" she screamed, and with that she turned on her heel and ran for her life, arms flailing.

"Hai, Sonea!" cried a voice suddenly, making her jump about a foot in terror. She spun around to confront the stalker, then sighed in relief as her eyes fell upon the straggly youth before her.

"Hello Ceryni."

"It's good to see you again, Sonea. You look great. What a lovely surprise," he said with a delighted, if not slightly crazed, smile.

"Yes, it's been a while," she agreed.

"A while… yes, indeed. Certainly. Indubitably. I most definitely wasn't following you, and haven't been for the past eight days. Nope, never done that before. I don't watch you sleep and take photos of you in the shower. Never. That would just be odd. I also don't dream about you every night and see your face every time I close my eyes, or think of you first thing every morning. It doesn't tear me apart inside to not be with you every second of every day, holding you, touching you. I'm not mad!" His voice became faster and higher, until only bats and perhaps dolphins could understand him.

"Sorry?" Sonea asked when he was finished, ten minutes later. He looked at her and blinked in surprise, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Oh, nothing," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Anyway, you wanna come throw stuff at the magicians with us?"

"Well," she considered. It could be fun, but her aunt sure would be mad at her if she was gone for too long. "I-"

"Oh please say you'll come. Please? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease?! It will be so fun just like old times and we can hang out together and catch up because I haven't seen you in sooooo long – well that's not true because I saw you this morning while you were getting dressed but let's not talk about that – so you should come with me to throw things at the magicians because it will be _FUN_!!!" By this point he was bouncing up and down, waving his arms around.

Before she could answer, Cery was hanging off her sleeve.

"Oh pleeease come! Pleeeease!" he begged, dropping to his knees. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" he broke off and began to choke, clutching his throat. "Please," he whispered, gasping for breath.

"Oh, all right then. But you'd better get up before I change my mind." He got to his feet abruptly and shrugged.

"Sure, I guess it'd be cool if you come," he said flatly, putting his hands in his pockets. Sonea heard a tearing noise, and a second later his hands reappeared through the sudden holes in those same pockets. The coat was quickly discarded as they set off to find Harrin and the others.

"So, are you having fun yet?" he asked, grinning in a psychotic manner.

"Cery, we're not even there yet," she pointed out.

"Well are you having fun walking there? With me? Like old times. With me? Your friend? Fun?" he inquired, his voice rising in pitch again with each word.

"Yes, yes, this is fun," she assured him, resisting the urge to reach out and curl her fingers around his throat. Now she remembered why she had stopped hanging out with him two years ago.

"So, what's up?"

"Oh, same old," she shrugged.

"Cool. So, where you been all this time?"

"You know where I've been. Uncle Ranel got us a room in a stayhouse, in the North Quarter."

"Cool. So… what's up?"

"Nothing new since you last asked me, thirty seconds ago."

"Oh right…"

Sonea's left eye began to twitch, a problem that seemed to recur most often around Ceryni. "Why don't we not talk? You know, just enjoy each other's company."

"Wow, that's a great idea. I love it. You're so smart. You're a genius. I could never be as clever as you. I'm so jealous, Sonea. You're so much better than me, please let me lick your feet!"

A couple in a nearby house leapt out of their seats as a teenage boy smashed through their window and landed on their dinner table, in the freshly served chicken soup.

"It's okay Sonea," he cried, clambering to his feet and picking carrot out of his hair. "I forgive you! I'll always forgive you, no matter what you do. Wait for meeeeee!"

They stared after him, bewildered, as he scrambled out of the broken window again and hurtled off out of sight.

"I do think we've drank a little too much wine, dearest," the man said to his wife, helping her to her feet and steering her out of the room.

"Sonea? Hai! It's good to see you again!"

"Hello Harrin," she replied, smiling exhaustedly. The taller boy frowned, then glanced down.

"Urgh, you got something on your foot," he told her, straightening his Mohawk.

"Hey Harrin," the something said, looking up to wave.

"Cery? What are you doing?"

"Err… fell over," he said hurriedly, getting to his feet.

"Right." Harrin shook his head and turned to Sonea. "Anyway, apparently there's a load of magicians coming, just round the corner, and we're going to throw all these at them." He gestured to a large pile of faeces. "You joining us?"

"Why do you bother to throw things at them? They always make a shield, so it's pointless."

"Well if we didn't, it would be like we didn't mind them kicking us out of the city. We have to show some defiance. It's not pointless-"

"Sonea is always right!" hissed Cery venomously. He threw himself at Harrin and began to bite him. The pair toppled to the ground. "Grr."

Leaving them to roll around in the dirt, Sonea pushed through the crowd, wondering where the guards and magicians were.

Every year they did this. It had become known as the Purge, as the purpose was to drive all the poor people out of the city and into the slums, therefore purging it so that the rich folk were free to rummage through the bins in peace. Some king had begun it years ago when his wedge of Stilton, which he had left fermenting on his front lawn, had gone missing. In the end it turned out some old tramp had taken it, and the King declared that once a year, on that day, they must all be removed so his cheese would be safe to ferment once again. After he died, the magicians decided it was so much fun they should continue it each year, so they had something to do.

Glancing up, Sonea froze as nine magicians appeared. They were all male, and wore long, wide sleeved robes bound by a sash around the middle.

All at once, the youths began hurling the brown muck towards them.

"Take that, you scum!" Harrin yelled, watching in dissatisfaction as the dung missiles slammed against an invisible wall a few feet before the magicians.

"Look at me throw poop Sonea! Pretty cool, huh?" she vaguely heard Cery saying in the background. Biting back a growl, she scooped up a handful of excretion and hurled it at the magicians. A particularly greasy haired one looked up and wrinkled his nose.

"Absolute filth," he sneered. Sonea felt her face contort into a glare. How dare he assume they had no regard for personal hygiene, when he had absolutely no evidence to prove it! She tightened her grip on the handful of poo – not a good idea, she realised too late - then hurled it at him, focusing all her hatred on the brown lump.

There was a blue flash, and then that same brown lump splattered all over the greasy haired one's face.

Sonea felt herself go cold as she watched him stop mid-sentence, stagger, then collapse to the floor and begin vomiting violently.

_How could the poo possibly have gone through…? Unless… _She went even colder as the realisation dawned on her. _I'm hallucinating and_ _this is all a figment of my imagination!_

The other magicians were gathered by their fallen companion, staring around at the crowd blankly, and Sonea allowed herself to breathe as she realized they didn't know who had thrown the poo. Then suddenly an older magician rose, slipped his hand into his trousers, then pointed. The others turned to see who he was indicating, then all raiser their hands.

"Get thee hither, roguish, fool-born measle!"

Sonea dove into the crowd, snatching a toddler from someone's arms as a bolt of fire hurtled towards her. She threw him into its path, and with a squeak he was reduced to a pile of ash.

"DO NOT HURT HER!" a second magician boomed, casting a wary glance at the nearby CCTV camera.

Sonea turned on her heel and ran for her life, stopping only to snatch up a mouldering slice of bread from the gutter.

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**Feedback/constructive criticism would make me a happy bunny.**


	2. Minor Discrepancies

**Disclaimer: The Black Magician Trilogy and all characters involved belong to Trudi Canavan.**

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Lord Rothen sighed as he observed the sea of robes before him. That laundry pile really needed seeing to. Beside the robes stood a number of magicians.

_I hope this Meet doesn't take long. That curry last night was a bad idea._ His stomach grumbled unhappily.

A tall young magician turned towards him, and he smiled at his friend's eager expression. Dannyl was always complaining that nothing worth talking about happened around here. Then, as his eyes slid to the other's robes, the smile faltered.

"How did it go, old friend?" the younger man grinned, making his way over. Rothen failed to answer. "Hello?" he asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "Rothen?"

"Oh… err…" Rothen mumbled, blinking several times in succession. "Dannyl, are you aware that your robes are… pink?"

"Ah... there was an accident with the, um, chemicals. I foolishly spilled some Doodlechlorine… Hydrothingy on them."

"Ah, I've done the same thing many times," Rothen chuckled. "I can put it right for you, let me just-" He reached out to correct the robes.

"No!" Dannyl shrieked, slapping his hand away. "Get away, evil man!"

"Dannyl, are you feeling all right today?" Rothen asked warily, taking a few steps backwards for good measure. He watched, concerned, as the younger magician's face reddened until he looked on the verge of exploding. He was just about to call for help when Dannyl replied;

"I, uh… hit my head. Last night. While I was... watering my... granola." He stared past Rothen's shoulder distantly, eye twitching. _What are young people smoking these days? _he wondered with vague interest, guiding Dannyl to a chair.

"Oi, all you scumbags get your asses in a seat now!" screeched an amplified voice suddenly. The mass of robes parted, leading Rothen to wonder just what was living in there, as the magicians made their ways to their seats.

"I see the King's Advisors have joined us," Dannyl murmured, apparently back to normal. He nodded to the corner, where two magicians with gold sashes tied around their waists were playing cards.

"I have called this Meet so that we may discuss the events which occurred in the North Square this morning," Lorlen began, taking a deep drag on his cigar. "Basically, you guys cocked up real bad. Killed a kid, let the rogue escape, I mean What. The. Hell? I call on…" He stared blankly at Rothen for several minutes, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "You," he finished eventually. "I call on _you_ as a witness to the event."

"Yes, Administrator," Rothen nodded, rising from his seat. "And it's Rothen, by the way."

When he reached the front, he inclined his head to the Higher Magicians, but most of them were too busy lighting cigars or sipping wine to notice. No wonder there had been such drastic budget cuts lately within the Guild.

"Yeah, so… tell us what happened, uh… Robert?"

"_Rothen_," he corrected. "Well, when I arrived at the North Square, Lord Fergun was already in place. I took my place beside him and added my power to the shield. Then some of the youths started throwing things at us, as usual, but we ignored them." He broke off and coughed in disgust as he was enveloped in a cloud of smoke from Lorlen's cigars.

"Continue," the Administrator said impatiently.

"Well, I was having sexual fantasies about underage girls when I saw a blue flash out of the corner of my eye and felt a disturbance in the shield."

"Hold up," Lorlen interrupted. Rothen froze in horror as he realised what he'd just confessed to. _Now I've done it. I didn't mean to say that. They'll surely throw me out of the Guild for this. _He forced himself to meet Lorlen's gaze.

"Yes?" he asked in dread.

"Did you say a blue flash?"

"Y…yes, a blue flash."

"Blue? BLUE? How many times must I tell you to make the shield _GREEN? _Blue," he indicated his robes, which were indeed blue, "is my colour. It matches my eyes." Nobody bothered to point out that his eyes were brown, but Rothen allowed himself to sigh in relief. "But anyway Robert, please continue."

"_Rothen_."

"No, my name is Lorlen."

"I meant…" He sighed. "Where was I? Oh yes; then I looked up and saw a lump of faeces flying towards us, but before I could warn the others I was blinded by the light from the flash reflecting off Lord Fergun's hair, and it struck him in the face. As he collapsed, I-"

"Yeah, yeah, we read this part last chapter. Stop pushing the word count up now," Lorlen interrupted, flicking cigar ash at him in annoyance.

"What's with him?" Dannyl asked, as Rothen returned to his seat.

Back at the front, Lorlen turned to a group of warriors. "So this was when you decided to kill that little kid?"

"Administrator," Lord Balkan, Head of Warriors, began. "When Lord Rothen pointed to the girl, my warriors attempted to stun her before she could escape. However, there was much commotion amongst the crowd, and the stunstrikes combined to make a firestrike, which hit a young child by mist-"

"Shut up, you complete cock. Do you know what this means?" The warriors all shook their heads slowly. "It means now we must apologise. To slum dwellers! Oh, the humiliation of it!"

The room fell silent.

"So what do we do about the rogue?" Lorlen asked after a long silence. He looked around for suggestions.

"If she is a rogue, we shall have to arrest her," someone pointed out.

"But what if she's a natural? We must find her and teach her Control," someone else said.

"Yes, we would need help though. Perhaps the City Guard?" a third agreed.

"I get turned on by geckos," contributed a fourth.

Lorlen looked around again and sighed in exasperation. "No-one? Am I the only one awake today? Well, I have concluded that if she is a rogue we must arrest her and her trainers, but if she is a natural we shall bring her here and teach her Control. Also, geckos are hot." He glanced up at the two King's Advisors, who were still playing cards in the corner. "The Guild formally requests the assistance of the City Guard."

"City Guard? Sure, whatever you want," replied the older one, waving his hand dismissively.

"In that case, the Guild also formally requests the King send us fifty crates of Elyne wine as soon as possible. It is a matter of sincere urgency."

"M'kay, I'll tell him…"

"And one thousand packets of his finest cigars," someone else added hastily.

"Alrighty."

Lorlen smirked. "It's settled then. We shall begin the search tomorrow, methinks. The novices can have another day of… whatever they do when they're not in lessons, and tomorrow night if you twats haven't found her, we'll meet here again and… do something relevant to the plot. I'd love to join you, but I have highly important work to attend to. I shall be in my office, certainly not getting high."

"May I make a suggestion, Administrator?"

Rothen looked up in surprise to find Dannyl rising from his seat.

"Yes, go ahea- Lord Dannyl, may I enquire as to why your robes are pink?"

"Oh…" Dannyl mumbled. "Accident with the chemicals." He shuffled his feet.

"Hmm. What is this suggestion of yours?"

"When we enter the slums, perhaps we will have a better chance of finding her if we wear disguises. We might gain more cooperation that way. I was thinking if we dressed as women, we would receive less hassle. Of course, I don't at all want to wear a g-string and mini skirt, but if that's what it takes to find this girl, then…" he trailed off as he realized everyone was staring at him. "Or we could always dress as they do."

"Definitely not," Balkan growled. Dannyl's face fell in disappointment. "We'd be ridiculed throughout the Allied Lands if we were found dressed as beggars and tramps!"

"You complete twat," Lorlen snorted, tossing the remainder of his cigar at Dannyl, who ducked just in time. "Our search would be hampered if we do _not_ wear robes. And plus I just don't like you. You're too tall."

"How will we know who to look for?" Lady Vinara spoke up, desperate to get a word in before the chapter ended.

"I told you Vinara, budget cuts. You are not permitted to speak, as you are using up oxygen which I cannot afford! However, you raise a fair point." Lorlen spun around abruptly, stumbled, then glared up at Rothen. "Make one of those… mind picture thingies," he demanded, gesturing animatedly. Sighing, Rothen closed his eyes and conjured up an image of the girl he had seen earlier. Immediately the Higher Magicians let out shocked gasps. He opened an eye, and felt his face redden. The image was of the girl alright, but something was wrong with her clothes. Or to be more precise, her lack of them.

"I… um…" Rothen stuttered, hurriedly correcting it as the entire hall stared at him. "So… this is her," he added, gesturing at the new image.

There was silence for several minutes.

"What if Rothen is mistaken, and she is not the attacker?" Lord Jerrik asked eventually.

"Well then we give him a kick up the backside," Lorlen replied flatly.

"What if she isn't a rogue," Vinara asked. "What then?"

"Questions, questions, question Vinara!" Balkan interrupted rudely. Vinara stared open-mouthed at him for a few seconds, then stalked from the hall.

"High Lord," Lorlen called suddenly, glancing up at the black robed magician. Akkarin looked up from his notepad, which he'd been doodling in for the length of the Meet. "Are there rogue magicians in the slums?"

"Rouges?" he asked in surprise. Noticing everyone was gazing expectantly at him for an answer, he hastily shook his head. "No- No, there are not …?" He trailed off, hoping this was an adequate response.

"It's settled then. You lot will go out and find her, while I shall be in my office doing something very relevant and equally important. Now bugger off." With that, Lorlen strode from the room.

"Yes, what he said," Akkarin agreed, gathering up his crayons and also making a hasty exit.

Rothen and Dannyl exchanged glances, and then spoke in unison; "WTF?"

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**I'm not too fond of this chapter myself, so constructive criticism and/or feedback would be very much appreciated if you have the time. Thanks for reading :)**


	3. Old Friends… And Stalkers

**It's a short one this time, and not really that funny.**

**The Black Magician Trilogy (C) Trudi Canavan**

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_What happened? _Sonea wondered, rubbing her head. She groaned and sat up.

"Oh Sonea! You've been unconscious for so long! I thought I'd lost you! Never do that to me again!" She gasped as someone threw their arms around her, crushing her to their chest.

"Where am I?" she choked, prising Cery off her. Wherever she was, it smelled rancid.

"Donia's place," Cery replied, grinning.

She glanced around. "Eugh! Cery, I'm in the sewers!"

"Yeah, _this_ is Donia's place," he explained, slowly inching closer. Just then there were footsteps, and two figures came into view. Sonea allowed herself to smile as she recognised her old friend Donia, alongside Harrin.

"Sonea," Harrin smiled, wading through the raw sewage. "How are ya doing?"

"I'm alright, I think. What happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied. "Did you throw the shit that went through the shield?"

"Yes, it was me," she sighed gravely. "But it was just a figment of my imagination, so there's no harm done, right?" She looked at their puzzled faces. "Right guys?"

"Um, Sonea… it wasn't a figment of your imagination." Harrin knelt beside the pile of soiled cardboard she was on and took her hand. "The magicians are looking for you. You must've used magic."

"What?!"

"They're pretty close," he began, but before he could continue Cery forced him aside.

"_I_ was talking to Sonea," he huffed. "Can you do magic again? Could you? Try it! Ooh, please try it! You could make me taller! And rich! Then we could be together! We could run away and get married, and have eighteen children, and-"

"I'm not trying anything," she said firmly. "What if it goes wrong? Look, I can't stay here. The magicians are going to come and kill me." She slapped his hands away and got to her feet.

"Come on, I'll help you get out of here," replied Harrin, indicating for her to follow him. Cery darted after them, wailing for Sonea as she stalked out of sight.

Donia stood there unhelpfully and added to the plot in no significant way.

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With an impatient gesture, Dannyl brushed a speck of dust from his robes. He glared down at the garment, which was now its original colour once again - after the Meet, Lorlen had hunted him down and insisted he changed them back, then muttered something about the evils of hairnets and vanished again.

The four guards around him exchanged speculative glances as the magician stopped for the sixth time to check his reflection in a shop window.

"My lord," began one of the guards hesitantly. He took a step backwards as the magician's glittery eyes fixed on him. "Shouldn't we… be looking for the girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just, we've been out here for almost a chapter now, and, with all due respect sir… we don't seem to be doing much…"

There was a long silence, during which the guard fidgeted nervously under the alchemist's eyeshadowy glare of wrath. Then Dannyl made a sudden small gesture with his hand, and the guard turned into a woodlouse.

"For reference, I shall not hesitate to punish you if anyone questions my methods again," he warned, examining his chipped nail varnish casually. Dannyl did not like to intimidate people, apparently, but he couldn't stand folk who had no respect for others. The remaining three guards gulped in unison. "This is a waste of time! 'Ridiculed' indeed. As if we're not making even bigger fools of ourselves now. I want to go home!" he whined.

They continued in silence for a few minutes, the three guards constantly eying possible escape routes.

"All this grime is so bad for my skin. I wonder if I could get some cheap face masks around here. I'm sure I heard Fergun say he gets his from the Thieves… Hmm, Thieves?" His abrupt halt caused the youngest guard to collide with him. The man felt his groin grow warm and damp as Dannyl's eye twitched.

"I'm sorry my lord, it was an accident. Please, I-"

"Silence!" he bellowed, clicking his fingers and reducing the man to a mound of dung. "Attacking a magician is against the law."

"Lord Dannyl, that really was unnecessary-"

"I said silence!" Before he could reply, the red-haired guard was too transformed into a sweltering pile of excretion. "I've had enough of your nonsense, all of you. I am _trying_ to work here! Do you not understand the importance of finding this girl? Ollin, take Keran and- Ollin, where is Keran?"

The only remaining guard pointed to the woodlouse that was still scuttling about near his feet.

"Oh," Dannyl said slowly. "Well, you be a good boy and find me a messenger for the Thieves, Ollin. I shall be waiting here, attending to some very urgent filing." He whipped out an emery board and began to file his fingernails vigorously, as Ollin bolted off in the opposite direction.

-_Dannyl?_

He jumped as he heard the faint mental communication, snapping the nail file. He pursed his lips as he recognised it as Rothen's voice.

"Hello, Rothen," he said as the older man emerged from a building named, 'The Dancing Slippers'.

"Shoe shop?" Dannyl asked.

"What?" Rothen twitched guiltily. "Oh yeah, that's right."

"Hmm, I may have to have a look then-"

"No!" the older man cried. Dannyl raised an eyebrow. "What I meant was… the, um, shoes in there are… so last year."

"Oh. Well that's a bit rubbish. Then again, this is the Slums."

"Come on, let's get back to the Guild," Rothen replied hastily, taking hold of Dannyl's arm and dragging him off down the street.

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**Feedback would be appreciated if you have time :)**


	4. The Search Or Lack Of Continues

**Er, I apologise to those of you who read this for the long wait. It's been a busy month what with college and NaNoWriMo and such. Hopefully this chapter isn't too much of an epic fail.**

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Remembering to put his trousers on underneath first this time, Rothen tied the sash of his robes, then stepped outside into the guest room. Yaldin, who had been rummaging through a cupboard, jumped and shut his fingers in the door. Though well over eighty, he had never given up his habit of leaving rooms with more than he came in with.

Dannyl stood beside him, frantically applying some foul smelling cream to his face.

"Good morning," Rothen said sleepily. They then proceeded to stand around aimlessly for a few lines…

…

"Lord Davin thinks we'll have a few warm days before winter sets in," Yaldin said eventually, in an attempt to make conversation.

"He's been saying that for weeks," Dannyl snorted. "Do you know how painful it was waxing my bikini line?"

For a few more minutes they all stood there, wondering where this paragraph was going.

To break the tension, the door opened and Rothen's servant, Tania, stepped inside. She made her way slowly over to the table and placed the tray she was carrying (holding the 'fancy' cups) down on the surface.

"Sumi, my lords?" she asked.

"Is it diet?" Dannyl demanded, making her jump and almost pour the jug of steaming water over herself. She backed away as he advanced on her, hands on hips.

"Dannyl, sit," Rothen barked, pointing to a chair. "Good boy," he cooed, patting Dannyl on the head as he sank into the armchair.

Tania set about pouring the drinks, while Yaldin made irrelevant conversation about his wife, Ezrille.

"I hear Fergun is going to help with the search today," Rothen said when Yaldin was quiet.

Dannyl snorted a second time, almost dislodging his nose-stud. "The girl should have thrown harder."

"Dannyl," Rothen scolded.

"What? He stole my straighteners." The two older men sighed despairingly.

"It's only due to his moaning that half the guild is still looking for the girl," the older magician reminded him. Remembering the girl's starved, dirty face, eyes wide with realisation, Rothen felt his hand creep towards the waistband of his trousers. He was only prevented from going further when a knock at the door interrupted his twisted thoughts. Willing it open, he looked up to see a messenger.

"Lord Dannyl?" he asked nervously.

"Yes?" snapped Dannyl.

"Captain Garrin asked me to tell you Ollin was found bludgeoned to death in an alleyway. The graffiti on his leotard read that the Thieves do not wish to speak with magicians."

"Are they badly injured?" Rothen asked, glancing down lazily at the page to check his next line.

"Um… Bludgeoned. To death," repeated the messenger, shaking his head as he left. "Wrong script."

"Thieves?" Yaldin gasped, trying to stay in the chapter longer. "Oh Dannyl, you didn't ask them to help find the girl?"

"Like no way. I ran out of tea tree face masks, but the prices are _so_ high these days, so I thought maybe I could get a discount from-" He stopped and blinked several times. "Actually, your idea sounds far less gay. Yeah, that's why I contacted them. The girl…" he corrected quickly.

"The King and Houses aren't going to look kindly on the Guild conducting business with the Thieves," Rothen pointed out. "You'll have a hard time convincing the Higher Magicians to agree, especially after that whole fiasco with the spandex and gravy granules."

"Shh! You promised you wouldn't tell," Dannyl whispered, glancing warily at Yaldin. Fortunately he was too busy rummaging through another cupboard to pay attention.

Sighing, Rothen gazed out of the window and indulged in some wild fantasies about the slum girl, many of which involved horse whips, cattle prods and boiling water. The he stopped as he realized that winter was coming soon. What if their search had driven her out of wherever she had been staying and onto the streets? What if she froze to death before they found her? What if he never got to make his perverted fantasies a reality!?

"Dannyl, the man you spoke to doesn't speak for all the Thieves, does he?"

"I dunno," Dannyl replied distractedly, trying to get a good view of his backside in the mirror. "_Rothen_," he whined. "Does my bum look big in these robes?"

"This girl's life is at stake!" the older man barked. "Stop being so gay!"

"I resent that," Dannyl hissed, smacking Rothen about the face with his handbag before fleeing the room. He was closely followed by Yaldin, but not before the latter had pocketed thirty gold's worth of cutlery.

* * *

"Donia! My hair is green!"

"I… I…"

"Oh go away, you stupid waste of space on the page!" Sonea hissed, staring at her reflection in horror. To deter the magicians' search they had been trying to dye her hair a lighter colour, yet somehow it had ended up a vibrant shade of lime. This reminded Sonea why Donia didn't make it to the second book. Snarling, she shoved the girl out of her way, sending her crashing into a wooden cupboard. Hearing the disturbance, Cery appeared in the doorway, a toilet brush clutched in his hand.

"Sonea? I heard noise! What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me?" He brandished the brush at an imaginary attacker.

"No Cery," she sighed. "I'm fine."

"So you don't need me to fight off attackers? To look heroic and rescue you? So you can fall in love with me for saving your life and be my girlfriend forevermore?"

"What…?"

"Come on," Harrin called, realising this was beginning to sound repetitive.

"Come on where?"

"They're searching the slums again. We need to go," he explained, gesturing to the hidden door in the cupboard he had just emerged from. He didn't seem to have realized he was treading on Donia, and Sonea saw no reason to tell him. Growing tired of the lack of plot so far, Sonea got to her feet and followed Harrin into the hidden passage. Cery was close behind her.

"Where are we headed?" she asked, kicking a stone in annoyance. It bounced off the wall and hit Cery in the eye. Gazing at it in wonder, he touched the red mark on his face with one hand, using the other to snatch up the stone and pocket it.

"Well," Harrin began, "Cery found a place over in-" He broke off and held up a hand to silence them as a ball of light appeared. This was closely followed by two purple-robed magicians.

"Quick," whispered Cery, grabbing Sonea and hauling her into a hidden alcove. As Harrin made to squeeze in too, the other boy shook his head and glared fiercely. Glancing around in despair, Harrin turned and bolted off down the tunnel. "Hey," Cery said smoothly, smiling up at Sonea. She would have groaned, had there not have been magicians less than a metre away. As they walked slowly past, she realized the older one was muttering to himself.

"Mmm, so close… Must find… And rubber ducks…" he was saying, his gaze distant. He paused his uttering and frowned, as if he could hear something. "Come to daddy," he whispered, turning towards the concealed alcove.

_How can he possibly know I'm here? Surely he can't hear me!_ She held her breath, just in case, and closed her eyes tightly. Then she realized what was wrong. _He can hear my thoughts!_

_No, I'm not here… I'm down an alleyway, eating from a bin. He can't see me…_All of a sudden, it felt as if someone was smothering her. She couldn't breathe… _What have I done? I've done something with magic!_ she thought, beginning to panic. Then she opened her eyes.

"Cery," she said through clenched teeth, glancing down at the figure wrapping himself around her like some form of snake. "Get off me, now."

"Aww," he sulked, storming out of the alcove in a huff.

Sonea cursed as she realized that the magician, and his light, had vanished.

* * *

Dannyl glanced up in disregard at the building before him. The most recent of the Guild structures, The Seven Arches was, he decided, the worst monstrosity he had ever seen. Its best feature was the vibrant green splodges and copper tinsel.

Shaking his head, he strode into the Night Room behind Rothen. He noticed a few less social magicians, but then his eyes caught a splash of black and he stopped abruptly.

"Ouch, my eyes!" he screamed, clutching at his face as tears of agony streamed down his cheeks.

"Whoops," gasped the passing scribe, staring at the shattered inkwell at his feet. "I'm so sorry, it slipped from my hand!"

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," went the alchemist, hopping about as the ink trickled down his face. "It burns, it burns, it burns, it burns! I'm blind!"

"Dannyl, stop overreacting," Rothen sighed, dampening a cloth and using it to dab at the black stains. Ten seconds later the ink had all been removed, and it was as if nothing had happened. Rothen glanced up, noticing Lorlen beckoning lazily for them. Gripping his friend's arm, he moved over to the Administrator and Akkarin, who was still chortling at Dannyl's display.

"-and I've suffered so terribly these past few days, it's a wonder I've been able to bear it," someone was saying. Dannyl's scowl deepened as he recognized the blinding hair, and he slipped his sunglasses into place, as did Rothen. Fergun was sprawled lazily across three chairs, one of which contained the High Lord, sipping a glass of wine. Someone had stuck a band aid over his 'dreadful wound' left by the faeces.

"Indeed," interrupted Akkarin, realising now they had to come up with a reason for calling the two magicians over. "Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl, it is so nice to see you again, on this fine day. I'm sure you're wondering why Administrator Lorlen requested your company? Well he'll explain that to you right now," he said, glancing at Lorlen pointedly. Lorlen looked up lazily, lit a cigar, and muttered something along the lines of, "Eh."

"Um… good evening High Lord, Administrator," Rothen replied. "Lord Fegun, how are you?"

"Lord Rothen, greetings. How am I? Well," he began. Behind him Lorlen face-palmed, while Akkarin untied the sash of his robes and began to loop it around his neck. "I am in dreadful pain," Fergun continued. "Every waking moment is filled with agony and strife. At times, 'tis nigh unbearable." His voice began to waver. "But alas, I soldier on for my High Lord and my King. For I know how greatly I am needed. I know that without me, there would be such chaos, such discord, such-"

"Whoops," Dannyl said innocently, slipping the bottle of chloroform back into his pocket. Akkarin blinked in surprise, slowly loosening the sash and stepping down from his chair.

"Fine work, Lord Dannyl. I feel I should reward you," he said, reaching into his trousers.

"Oh," Dannyl breathed, staring dreamily towards the High Lord's crotch.

"Ah, there we are," he announced, withdrawing his hand to reveal a glittery necklace. "I must get that hole in my pocket repaired."

"_Oh_," went the alchemist, in a completely different tone. He considered the item of jewellery for a minute, then shrugged and began to gnaw on it.

"So," Lorlen said slowly, gazing at the other man with a look of bewilderment on his face, mouth open and one eyebrow inching its way up his forehead. "What news from the Mark?"

"The Mark, my friend?" Akkarin inquired. "I believe you have your fandoms a little confused."

"Who said anything about a Mark? I asked what news Robert and Danielle have from the Slums."

"Lorlen, dear companion, perhaps you should have a break from your cigars and whatnot?"

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! I'M A BIG GIRL NOW, I CAN LOOK AFTER MYSELF!"

"Most certainly," Akkarin sighed despairingly. "So Rothen, what have you to tell us?"

Rothen repeated what had happened a few pages ago, while everyone else drummed their fingers on some form of surface. Fergun groaned and regained consciousness.

"Oh my, I'm even passing out now. I should really see a healer about this."

"Dannyl mentioned earlier that the slum dwellers are the ones more likely to find the girl," Rothen said over the blond's continuation of his monologue on the suffering he underwent for the sake of the Guild. "I think we should ask them for their assistance."

"Dannyl?" Fergun asked, rubbing his head. "Where is he these days?"

"Ahem," went Dannyl.

"How odd, I thought I heard something beside me," Fergun gasped, staring straight at the other magician. "I suppose it's due to the terrible concussion I suffered."

"Or maybe it's because you're a jerk?" Dannyl suggested.

"Ah!" squawked Fergun. "I just heard a voice, right there!" He pointed towards Dannyl and almost poked him in the eye. "Right there, I swear it. This is most strange."

"Indubitably," Akkarin interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Rothen, do continue."

"Dannyl and I thought we could offer a reward to convince the slum dwellers to help us."

"A reward is a good idea. I think we shall do that. Once again, good work Lord Dannyl. I am highly impressed with you," the High Lord said approvingly.

"High Lord," Fergun frowned. "Who are you speaking to? Lord Dannyl's not in the room."

"I'm right here, you bitch!"

Fergun clutched at his head. "Voices! There are voices in my head."

"Dannyl, I want you to print up some reward posters with the girl's description on," Lorlen said, using Fergun's head to extinguish his cigar.

"Yes, Administrator."

"Lord Rothen, will you be seeing Lord Dannyl today?" Fergun asked, looking up. "Someone needs to inform him we need those posters. It's a shame he couldn't join us today." A moment later a heavy book struck him in the back of the head. "Oh goodness, I fear the ceiling is falling to pieces!" he gasped, jumping up. "I must retire to my rooms now, I feel awfully peculiar." Clutching his head, he ran from the room, managing to knock Dannyl out the window on the way.

"I should go..." Rothen gestured vaguely.

"Please do."

* * *

**As always, feedback/constructive criticism is much appreciated. I'll do my best to get the next chapter finished soon, but can't promise anything - I have coursework to write, a novel to finish, sleep to catch up on... you get the picture. ****Thanks very much for reading :)**


	5. Author's Note

A Quick Author's Note

Oh look, I still exist.

I know you're not supposed to post separate author's notes, but shh. And sorry to anyone who got excited and thought I'd actually written another chapter.

Every now and then I still get people favouriting or following this silly ol' parody, and I feel kinda guilty for going AWOL. I'm aware I haven't updated it in several forevers, and I apologise. I could list a whole bunch of excuses, but I won't. Basically, I'm just really, _really_ lazy.

But I just wanted to let you all know (all two of you who still care) that I haven't given up on this fic. I know that's probably hard to believe, but I'm actually in the process of rewriting the existing chapters as we speak! Well, not literally, because right now I'm writing this note. But I will return to rewriting once I've posted this. And when that's done, I may even endeavour to actually write some new material! Le gasp! It might take a while, but it will happen at some unspecified point in time. Probably.


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